Rachel Caine: Working Stiff

“You should have been the first one she went for,” McCallister said. “If I’d been making up the charts, you would have been at the top of the list.”

“I’m glad you weren’t, then. I had just enough time to get my things together and file for my vacation before Harte thought to order my lockdown. That’s something my good little corporate-citizen act bought me, at least— vacation time. That and free Krispy Kreme doughnuts once a week at the team meetings. But in fact, Harte was too afraid to order me put into the program at first; she knew I could engineer a vaccine to counteract the revival process and make myself useless to her. Effectively, she would be rolling the dice on whether or not I’d wake up, and she couldn’t afford that risk until she was sure she wasn’t dependent on me.”

Mercer transferred that cool stare to Bryn. “You made it out. I heard they were bringing you in for … What do they call it? Observation. Irene likes to have a record of the process on file, to prove that the experimental failures have been cleaned up properly. I’m not really sure she doesn’t keep copies. You know, for fun.”

“You really are crazy,” McCallister said, almost admiringly. “I’d heard rumors.”

“Oh, I’m not crazy. Crazy is sticking a gun in your mouth and blowing a hole in your cerebellum, like my old lab partner. I simply chose to stop counting the cost of what we did, other than in terms of what it could buy me. That’s eminently sane. Thanks for your two hundred thousand dollars, by the way. I’m very grateful. It’s helped me get my new assembly process tooled up in a secured facility. I’m turning out the drug in enough quantities to guarantee steady employment, and that’s all I really want.” He smiled. “Well, that and destroying the company, and particularly Irene Harte. But that’s what I want from you , McCallister. In return, I will guarantee your friend Ms. Davis here a lifetime supply of Returné, as long as she makes her wealthy funeral home clientele available to me as customers, as Mr. Fairview did. I have to look to the future.”

“I’m not your assassin,” McCallister said. “And she’s not peddling your drugs.”

“Wait. Let’s review. You are an assassin, as we both very well know; Ms. Davis is in a particularly nasty situation, because her supply from Pharmadene is gone, and even if she managed to secure some on the way out, it won’t be much. It doesn’t store well; did you know that? Ineffective in the vials after about a week. Fresh batches are important. So really, there’s no bargaining going on here; you’re going to do what I want, and she’s going to do what I want. Because the alternatives are unthinkable.”

“Where are they?” Bryn asked. She raised her gun and pointed it at Mercer’s face.

He cocked his head, baffled. “Who?”

“The people who live in this house. The kids.”

“Oh, they’re in the back,” he said. “You’re free to go check on them if you’d like, but I promise you, their hearts are still beating. They’re just in a very deep sleep.”

“And where’s Annie?”

“Your sister. Ah, yes.” Mercer glanced behind him, toward a rounded doorway that led into a kitchen; Bryn could see a silvery refrigerator and a sink from the angle where she stood. “In there. Go on. I’ll wait here. By the way, the kitchen door has been jammed shut.”

McCallister started to follow her as she moved, and this time she was the one to give the hand signal. He didn’t like it, but he obeyed … mainly, she thought, because he knew Mercer was far too dangerous to leave unobserved.

She crossed to the kitchen and stepped inside.

For a second she didn’t see anything, and then she heard a scrape, and looked to her left. There was a recessed breakfast nook with a table and chairs. One of the chairs had been turned to face outward.

Annie sat on it, hands tied behind her, legs secured to the wood. She was breathing fast, and her hair was in her eyes, lifting and falling with each rapid gasp.

“Bryn, help,” she whispered, but that was all she had time for, because there was someone sitting behind her who slipped a plastic bag over Annalie’s head and twisted it tight at the neck. Annie immediately panicked, twisting against her bonds, the bag sucked tight into her open, gasping mouth.

“No!” Bryn screamed, and raised her gun.

“Careful,” said the man killing her sister. “I’m just making a point. Look.” He loosened the bag, and slipped it up just enough that Annie sucked in a deep, agonized breath. “Play nice, Double Trouble. I’m not going to tell you twice.”

Double Trouble. Oh, God.

The man torturing her sister was Fast Freddy Watson . His smile was like razors, and there was bitter triumph in it. “You fucking lunatic,” she spat. “Take that off of her. Now! ”

“Nah, I don’t think so; I love watching you squirm,” he said, and snapped the bag back into place. Bryn watched helplessly as her sister arched against her bonds, sucking plastic as she tried to breathe. “How’s life after death?”

She fired a round right by his head, adjusted her aim. He ducked behind Annie, spoiling the shot. “Let her go,” she said. “She’s your leverage , you asshole!”

“Trust me. It’s not going to kill her. Just fuck her up a little bit.”

“I swear to God I’ll shoot you.”

“Gotta shoot her first!”

Behind her, she heard McCallister enter the kitchen. When she glanced back, she saw he’d brought Mercer, and he had his gun at Mercer’s temple. “Let’s call this a draw,” McCallister said. “I pull the trigger and you get no more antide-cay medicine, Freddy. We don’t want that, do we? Let her go.”

Annie was gagging on the bag. It was misted over from her breath, and Bryn had that double-vision nightmare again. She didn’t blink as she met Freddy’s gaze, just visible over her sister’s head. “I’ll put you down, Freddy,” she said. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“I know you would,” he said, “but we both know I’ll get up again.” He shrugged then, and yanked the bag off Annalie’s head. “Whatever.”

Annie coughed and sobbed and gasped, tears streaming down her face, and Bryn came forward, grabbed Freddy, and shoved him facedown onto the floor. “You got him?” she asked McCallister.

“Got him.” He put a foot on the back of Freddy’s neck, and kept the gun trained on the real threat. Mercer.

Bryn rummaged in the kitchen drawers, found scissors, and cut Annalie’s ties at the wrists and ankles. Annie pitched forward into her arms, sobbing wildly. “ Shh ,” Bryn said, and stroked her matted hair. “ Shh , baby, you’re okay. It’s all okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Annie sobbed. “It’s never going to be okay. Never.”

“She’s right,” Freddy said. His voice was muffled against the floor, but he still sounded creepily sure of himself. “Poor little Annie. Not the first time she’s been through that. Right, Annie?”

“What …” Bryn looked at her sister, scraped the hair back from her face, and looked into her eyes. “Annie?”

Annie whispered, “It happened before. The bag. Coming back. The bag.” She was shaking all over, and her face was ice white. If Bryn’s eyes were haunted, Annalie’s were blind mirrors, reflecting only panic and horror. “He likes it.”

Mercer sighed. “I told you not to play with her, Freddy.”

“I was bored,” Freddy said. “She’s fine.”

“She’s no good to us insane.”

“Annie! Annie, look at me. You’re safe now. It’s all right. Understand?” Bryn hugged her again, and got her to stand up with her. Annie’s skin felt damp and cold. Where she’d been tied, it was …